


Cherry Cola Fantasies

by twinkylukey



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 70s AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bottom Luke, Dom Ashton Irwin, Drug Use, Established Michael Clifford/Calum Hood, Gay, Las Vegas, Las Vegas AU, Light Dom/sub, Luke is a starving artist, M/M, Michael Clifford Loves Calum Hood, Prostitution, Rich Ashton Irwin, Rockstar Luke, Talented Luke, Top Ashton Irwin, luke wants to be famous, michael owns a gas station, roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 23:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkylukey/pseuds/twinkylukey
Summary: The year is 1973, Luke Hemmings is a free soul who wonders the beaches of the Pacific. A runaway, the blonde boy strums his guitar at different stores to make a few dollars. Ashton is a loner, riding the open road. Both boys happen to stop at the same gas station just on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Their paths crossing could change them forever.





	1. Prologue

The roof of Luke's car creaked and groaned whenever he drove it. He was forced to leave the convertible top down with every ride. Sometimes, it bothered him. It was an inconvenience to have to buy sunglasses for these long drives. They were stylish, yes, but they costed too much money in this poor economy. With red-orange lenses, Luke had protected irises but an empty bank account and one less meal. The car was a piece of junk on its own. It was a 1968 Dodge Charger that Luke had bought off his parents. That is, when he lived with his parents. Paint chips would sometimes blow into his mouth. One time, Luke flicked the ashes off a fresh blunt and some of said chipping-paint caught fire. Little sparks popped in the air, confusing Luke incredibly. 

Luke gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. A strand of hair was falling from the loose bun at the back of his head. The breeze tickled his stubble, pushed the free fabric of his t-shirt back against his chest. He was just outside a place called Henderson, Nevada. It was pretty close to Las Vegas, which is where Luke was headed. The desert landscape was different than the wild ocean he was used to. Small cacti grew alongside the empty road, and the traffic lines were so faded that Luke had to squint to see them. There was a plastic cup full of condensing cherry cola; he hadn't touched it since he hadn't a clue where the nearest gas station would be. 

His nails were painted for a rockstar affect. Rings coating each of his fingers. He only owned about five outfits, and he labeled this one, "the Las Vegas piece." A simple, graphic-print tee, a thick belt with a huge, belt buckle, Chelsea boots, and careless jewelry gave him this look. The boy had high hopes for the journey ahead. He was going to hit it big with the slots. 

Luke ran away when he was sixteen. His family had been holding him back his entire life, and the only way to feel free was for Luke to simply escape. Luke knew his music would, one day, support him, but when he took off, he was broke. He ended up sleeping with some guy named Jordan for a few nights in a two-star motel. Jordan gave him enough money for gas, and Luke had began the long journey. Luke had a life full of bad moments, being a free man was the best thing to ever happen to him. 

His car had a radio. Sometimes in abandoned towns like Henderson, Nevada, the frequencies were corrupted. Usually, however, Luke could tune in to the sweet sounds of Stevie Nicks or Jim Morrison. It broke Luke's heart when Jim Morrison died. He inspired Luke. What Luke would have given to have met him just once. To thank him would've settled the difficult feelings in the back of his mind. The music on the radio inspired him. He wanted to write songs like a rockstar. To see the world from a stage. 

A sign in his peripheral vision read: "Las Vegas 16 Miles." A smile crept upon his face when the radio began to come back with clear sound. He could see a few buildings along the horizon. One appeared to be a gas station. 

"Thank god," Luke said, groaning. 

He flicked on his turn signal, switching lanes on the empty road to turn into the parking lot. He didn't bother pulling up to one of the gas pumps. He wanted to check out all of the snacks inside first. The rendezvous with Jordan had left him with a little bit of cash. Or at least, enough to get some food to tie him over before Las Vegas. 

Luke sipped the nearly flat cherry cola, scoffing at how the hot sun had ruined the taste. He took a look in his rear-view mirror, his music was just on the verge of being obnoxious. Flicking off the ignition, he let out a soft sigh. 

"Las Vegas, I'm coming for you."


	2. Mike’s Shop

There was a haunting glow coming from the neon signs perched upon the gas station's windows. Purple ambiance decorated Luke's skin. The rocky road spread dust particles alongside the shop. Far out onto the horizon, the sun had begun to set. Luke's boots hit the pavement one at a time. He slammed his car door shut. This ghost town was dead silent apart from the sound of Luke's belt buckle clinking. He didn't bother to lock the door; only two cars, besides his own, were parked in the lot. He stared at the building for a second. 

"'Mike's Truck Stop,' huh? Well, Mike, doesn't look very promising..." Luke said to himself after reading the fading sign. He walked to a pair of glass doors. Slowly, he pried it open and stepped inside. His boots continued to make their noisy music. The place was slightly better on the inside. Everything was modern for the time. Cranberry, mauve, and citrus shades decorated the walls in complex patterns. There were brown contrasts that made the gas station seem more homely than a place where you simply paid for fuel. The neon signs were even more abundant along the colorful walls. All of them read either something poetical or something extremely confusing. 

"Hello, welcome to Mike's. I'm Michael. Do you need anything?" A voice chimed. Luke looked up, jumping a bit.

"Er, um, no. Just looking at your snack selection." Luke answered. Said Michael had on a short-sleeve button down tucked into a belt and high-rising pants. His hair was fringed and fell into his eyebrows. Luke wondered if he listened to punk music. Punk music seemed to really popular right now. 

"Let me or my employee Corey know if you need any help." Michael spoke carelessly. Luke nodded, walking down the many aisles. Some had toys, some candy, and some had simple necessities. The blonde man grew intrigued, however, when he saw a small table with a box full of vinyls on sale. 

A smile grew on the guitarist's face when he began to thumb through the records. His eyes lit up when he saw a copy of Morrison Hotel by the Doors. 

"No way...I couldn't find this anywhere..." He whispered, thumbing over the year-old record that had been sold out in every store he had searched. It was still in the plastic, and Luke knew he had to have it. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I love Jim Morrison," A strange voice made Luke jump. He clutched the record to his chest, peering over his shoulder with a nervous expression. 

"Er-um, are you Corey?" Luke's voice was a little scruffy. He didn't trust anyone, let alone people in ghost towns. Stranger danger still applied to adults. 

"No, I'm Ashton. Are you going to buy that?" This man, Ashton, asked. He was shorter than Luke, with slicked back hair and down-turned lips. There were creases by his eyes when he spoke, and his body seemed very toned and manly. His jacket clung to his shoulders, and the fabric made a sound as he moved. 

"Yeah," Luke cleared his throat. Ashton stood right beside him. 

"You look like you don't belong here," Ashton muttered, twisting one of his rings. Luke caught his eyes, and together they stared before he got nervous, looking away. He was taller than this Ashton, but he remained untrusting. 

"I-I don't know what you mean," Luke turned, record still cradled in his arms. 

"You look so...golden. You don't belong in this town. What's your name?" Ashton sat on the small table, careful not to push the record boxes off of the table. He looked back to Luke.

"Luke. I'm not from here. I'm headed to Vegas," Luke told the man he just met. His heart rate was speeding. Luke didn't understand why this stranger was trying to analyze him. Maybe, he wanted to murder him. The whole gas station did seem sketchy. Even Luke's new, beloved record seemed oddly placed. The taller man tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

"How old are you?" Ashton's voice was gravely, like the tumbleweeds that should have been rolling through Henderson, Nevada. 

"I'm twenty-one. Why are you asking me this?" Luke asked, growing even more skeptical. 

"Told you, you don't seem like you're from Henderson, Nevada," Ashton shrugged. He stood back to his feet, "Planning to hit it big?" The other man smirked teasingly. Luke blushed.

"Well, kind of. I want to travel." Luke stared at his feet.

"Well, traveling boy, you sure have a good taste in music-" Ashton said, an unfamiliar voice cut him off.

"If you would please not sit on the table; I'm the one who has to fix it," The other employee said. This time, Luke spotted a name-tag that read, "Corey." He had a similar punk look to him that the Michael-guy had. 

"Sorry," Ashton shrugged simply. His eyes returned to Luke. The employee rolled his eyes and quietly cleaned the table. 

"I...I would love to stay and make friends, but I should really get going. I um, only came for snacks," Luke held the record to his chest. He prayed the snack shelves were on the aisle furthest away from Ashton. 

Luke was unlucky. He grabbed a bag of Cheetos, never dropping the precious record in his hands. The aisle was only a few feet from the table Ashton had been sitting on. He could feel the strangers prying eyes on his back. 

"Don't you need a drink?" Ashton's words almost made Luke jump. When Luke looked over his shoulder, the mysterious man was smirking like crazy. 

"I...yeah," Luke pushed past him towards the line of refrigerators. He grabbed a bottle of iced tea, and quickly trudged to the punk cashier. 

"Is that all?" Michael yawned, sliding the items over a laser scanner. Luke watched with big blue eyes, slowly nodding. 

"Yes, thank you," He pulled out his black wallet. Only fifty dollars remained. 

"That'll be twenty dollars even," Michael seemed to hate his job. Luke felt bad for even bothering him. He noticed a picture of him kissing some guy's cheek that was taped to his workspace. Luke wondered if Michael just wanted to go home to that boy.

His long fingers fumbled for a twenty dollar bill. Luke slid the money across the counter. 

"Thank you. Come again, or whatever," Michael smiled softly. He gave Luke a small receipt, a bag with his record, and another bag with his snacks. 

"Thank you," Luke smiled back. 

When he carried his items out the his car, he noticed how Ashton was now outside. He was creepily watching Luke put things away. Did this guy get his kicks out of terrifying strangers? Luke didn't want to stick around to find out. 

Luke climbed into his car and reversed out of the parking spot in record time. The clicking of his seatbelt came later, as he was driving down an open road. 

"Mike's Shop," left Luke with many thoughts. Maybe that Michael guy was openly gay. Did his parents accept him? Luke wondered what it was like to have a real job and a real lover. 

If Luke had a right mind, he'd find someone to love him and give up music. 

But he didn't. 

His boots made a tapping noise against the accelerator as he sped through the desert's landscape. Beautiful cacti and an orange sky decorated the open space. 

Luke sighed in relief when a sign read, "Henderson City Limits."


	3. Stop Crying Your Heart Out

"It hurts when you call me that," Luke clutched the pay phone and whimpered. His back was pressed to the cold, metal box, and his boots were sliding down the pavement. Any second now, he would slip too far and fall. Gravity continued to push him away from the phone. He allowed it to happen. 

"What? Your fucking name? Maybe you should've thought of that, Luke," The boy said on the other line. Luke whined again and finally stood up straight, preventing the fall. The short cord attached to the phone curled around his body, keeping him trapped to it. 

"I-I-I don't understand how you could just hate someone after everything! Brian, please," Luke looked up at the Las Vegas sign. He was finally there. Everything was so bright and distracting,  but before he could enjoy himself he had to make a phone call. The phone call he always made. 

"Goodbye, Luke."

And just like that, he was gone again. Another painful thirty seconds to add to the list of memories. Luke hissed and slammed the phone down in the box. He carefully ducked out of the trap he created with the cord. 

"What a waste of a quarter!" He dried his eyes on his leather jacket. Luke hated that he cried so much. 

Luke had left a lot behind in his hometown. He wanted Brian to come with him, but of course, Brian didn't approve of Luke's dreams. No one did. Luke missed Brian. It wasn't like when he got mad at his parents; Luke thought of Brian every time he looked up at the desert sky. Brian was Luke's muse, and before he knew it, the other man was gone. 

It gave Luke this complex. Luke believed he was destined to die at twenty-seven. Cold and alone would he sit, dying of a drug addiction. He knew it would come sooner or later. Without Brian, the clock seemed to tick faster. 

Luke checked into a rundown motel simply to have a place to store his belongings. He didn't plan on sleeping tonight. It was within walking distance of a huge, glowing casino. Everything was working out pretty well. After all, Luke had been planning the trip since he was ten. 

The musician was emotional, but he had ways of toughening up. It was the story of his life. Luke was born sensitive, and he would die that way. At least, tears make for wonderful songs. 

The chains on his pants slapped against his thighs, and he let out a sigh when he opened the front door to the golden palace of gambling. 

Luke's glossy eyes caught the ambiance of hot pink neon. The leftover tears stuck to his eyes like cigarette smoke on fabric. 

_Girls, Girls, Girls_

"Neat," Luke mumbled. He rolled his eyes at the idea of strippers. In his pocket, he had about a thousand dollars to gamble. All that was left to do was win and start his own record company. 

One step at a time. 

Luke noticed that there was a couple poker games going on. Tables upon tables of green felt and piles of cards caught his vision. The neon was worse inside the main room. It almost gave him a headache. It was cold in the casino. The air left goosebumps on Luke's exposed arms. A strong bass line coming from a jukebox narrated Luke's steps towards the front desk. The receptionist was waiting with a curious expression.

"You have to be twenty-one to gamble," She said when Luke laid all of his cash on the counter. 

"I would like all the poker chips that this can buy me. I just turned twenty-one months ago, actuality," Luke smirked, practically cutting her off. 

"Oh, okay big shot," She smirked back, "Let me see some I.D."

Luke slapped his driver's license on the counter next to the money. His palms were beginning to grow clammy. Luke never expected a challenge at the register. 

"I think it's a little rude how young you take me for," Luke huffed. She didn't answer. She stared at the birthdate and nodded. 

"Fine then."

Her shorts heels hit the floor as she went to the machine that deposited poker chips. Luke didn't get women at all. He believed in feminism, of course, but some females were just so mean. Boys had their moments too, but girls sent him into a panic. Luke blamed the idea on how his mother treated him. 

If Luke weren't actually twenty-one, he would've cowered away and cried. When he was younger, he did that sort of thing a lot. His shyness used to get the best of him. Nowadays, a mean old receptionist was not going to stand in the way of his dreams. 

Luke collected his chips in his arms. There was a good amount, enough for three games if he played well. 

His pupils scanned the room for the least intimidating game. All of the green tables were surrounded by big men smoking cigars. He decided to sit at one close to an exit where a couple of young guys were playing. The table was at the back of the room, directly underneath a blue neon sign. 

The bass line returned. If he'd made it this far, he could complete his plan. 

In the back of Luke's mind, his mother was warning him of the dangers of gambling. His luck would have to be high, and his skills would have to be higher. And at the same time, it was the only way to gain money quickly. 

Luke sat down with a glance at the other players. The dealer tossed his cards at him. 

"Thanks," Luke mumbled. He held them tightly in his hands. The game began fast paced. Three of the six players folded, but Luke was confident about his three-of-a-kind hand. 

When he raised his head, he caught sight of the dealer. Clad in a navy blue shirt that hugged his skin and a golden crucifix that rested between his exposed chest hairs, sat a man Luke didn't expect to see. 

It was that creep from the gas station. 

"Ashton?!" Luke furrowed his eyebrows. Ashton laughed. 

"Some poker face you have," Ashton winked. The fourth guy folded. It appeared as though all of the other men did not want to play against Ashton. Was Ashton some kind of poker master? 

"You don't know," Luke huffed and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Ashton smirked. 

"I think I'll raise you. All the way," The man pushed all of his poker chips into the center of the table. Luke was offended. If that loser could bet all of his money, then so could Luke. 

"Fine. So will I!" Luke huffed. He lost his rationale when Ashton challenged him. Ashton couldn't stop laughing. 

"There," The creepy man placed his hand on the table. Luke's heart sank. It was a full house. A full house that beat his pathetic three matching cards. 

"Y-Y-You tricked me!" Luke slammed his hands on the table. 

"Oh, Luke, that's how this game works!" Ashton laughed and collected his chips. Without offering a second game, Ashton carried them to the reception desk. 

Luke was flushed and angered. He pushed his chair back and stormed over to Ashton in front of the annoying receptionist. 

"Lynn, I'm here to get my money," Ashton winked at the lady. She nodded feverishly and quickly grabbed his money. Ashton was so calm and collected, as if he didn't just win a thousand dollars. It made Luke seethe. 

"Here, Ash. Anything for you," Lynn nearly whimpered. Luke growled quietly. He was quickly beginning to hate both of them. Ashton looked at Luke. There was a gleam of pure mischief in his eyes. He counted every dollar slowly just to piss the musician off. 

"Something wrong, curly?" Ashton shoved the money in his pocket. 

"Yes, you jerk! You tricked me into betting everything. A-And I need that money. Please, let me win it back!" Luke stomped his feet like a child. His lips plumped in a pout, and he gave Ashton a pleading look. 

"Hon, that's not how poker works," Ashton patted Luke's shoulder. Luke grasped his hand and threw it down. 

"No! Let me have my money back!" Luke clenched his fists. 

"You. Are. A. Child," Ashton huffed and began walking away from Luke. Luke's heart kept breaking. What a con-artist. 

"There has to be some way you'll let me play you again," Luke pleaded. 

"Even if I did play you again, I would still win. I'm the luckiest guy alive," Ashton led Luke out of the casino. Luke rolled his eyes. He grabbed at Ashton's wrist. The rings on his fingers left marks against Ashton's skin. 

"What can I do, Ashton?" Their eyes locked when Luke said it. Ashton wet his chapping lips and searched across Luke's face for what looked to be sincerity. 

"Well—" Ashton hummed. His eyes trailed down, gazing at Luke's shirt glowing from his body and his pants that cupped his legs. Luke's curls were so long that they connected with his eyelashes.

"Oh..." Luke looked away. He wished to run and hide. He was tired of men asking for that. Though comfortable with his sexuality, he didn't want to be everyone's toy. 

"Problem?" Ashton furrowed his brows and crossed his arms. 

"It's n-nothing. I could if you really wanted me to or...you know," Luke shrugged. His shy side began bubbling up from the dark hole where he had left it. 

"Great, Luke. I'd love to hear your music. I can't believe I have to pay you a thousand bucks to do so, but—you always seem creeped out by me," Ashton laughed and shrugged. Luke furrowed his brows in confusion. Ashton didn't want his body?

"I thought you meant—" Luke choked and scratched his neck. 

"Thought I meant what? I just want you to earn the money back. Let this teach you that gambling is wrong. Every penny you receive in life should come from hard work," Ashton's warm voice was wise and kind. Relief puddled through Luke's mind and body. He wouldn't have to be someone's prostitute today. The strange man turned from Luke and began walking towards the parking lot.

"Why do you care, Ashton? You don't really know me," Luke followed behind him. The sky was now purple and red. Dusk had snuck upon them. 

"Let's just say—I know musicians," he said. He handed Luke a business card with his name and address. When Luke read over it, he gasped. 

In a small, silver font the card read:  
"Irwin Records."


	5. Broke Boy, Go Home!

Luke coughed and looked up from his spot on the floor. His knees were red and aching where he sat. With his legs folded underneath his body. His eyes puddled in tears. He wanted this to be over. 

The man, whose dick he was sucking, promised him $400 for a blowjob alone. Luke couldn't pass up the offer. Besides, Brian hurt him. He was doing this, sort of, to get back at Brian. But also be cause he needed cash. 

The problem was how disgusting the man smelled. He was hairy and not in a good way. Luke usually liked men with a little chest hair, but this guy was like a Wookie. He had a long, greasy ponytail and a brown, fringe jacket. It sickened Luke, especially when he called him "baby." 

When he looked at Luke, it sent shivers down Luke's spine. Luke felt like a doll. 

"Baby, keep going. Stop thinking and just suck!" He tugged Luke's curls, pulling him towards his dick. Luke wanted to bite down. Thankfully, old alcoholics didn't typically last long.

The motel had a musty smell. The wallpaper peeled around the edges, the lamp casted a greenish yellow glow, and the carpet was dark brown—covered in hair of various lengths. The bed was not any better. There were sheets of a sickening mustard color and a duvet that looked to be quilted, but it was actually made of nylon. Luke hated cheap motels. 

Luke coughed and let the older man use him. This was his thing: allowing some old guy to use him for pay, and that was how he paid for his road trip. How he paid for this retched, vile motel. 

He finished in Luke's hand. Luke stood and ran to wash the disgusting substance (and probably diseases) off of his skin. He used half of the bottle of hand soap. Anything to get this guy's stench off of him. 

"Baby!" The man grabbed Luke's ass. He didn't even bother to zip his pants up. 

"What, Earl?" Luke swatted his hand. Earl planted the $400 in Luke's hand. Luke smiled gratefully. 

"Thanks," the curly-haired boy whispered. He turned his attention back to the sink. 

"No problem. Call me sometime, baby. We can go for a ride on my motorcycle or something," Earl growled and touched Luke again. Luke sighed and led him out the motel door. 

"Sure," he said. 

He collapsed against the wall when the sound of a motorcycle engine filled his ears. Sliding to the floor, Luke held his knees and sobbed. He cried and sniffled until he couldn't breathe out of his left nostril. His cheeks were flushed, and he was beautiful. But, he felt used and washed up.

Luke took everything out of the pockets of his bellbottoms that shaped his hips nicely. He stepped out of his pointy boots and kicked the denim material off. Luke placed the items on the dusty motel bed and headed for the shower. 

He never let that kind of man kiss him. That was for Brian only, though, Luke wanted to be kissed sometimes. He wished Brian would come find him and kiss the breath out of him. 

Luke liked affection, so he wrote songs about it. 

The water drenched his soft curls and washed the filth off of his body. He used the motel soap bars but washed his hair using his own shampoo and conditioner. The curls had to stay luscious. 

Showers were religious for Luke. He felt peace under hot water, and he could sing his heart out without a soul critiquing him. To be alone in the shower was far different than being alone everywhere else. 

Luke put the same clothes back on and let his curls air dry. His boots clicked when he walked around the room. He took a loot at himself in the mirror. Feeling a little better, he decided to get out of the Vegas motel—and, never stay in it again. 

The boy would just have to find another place to stay the night at (or—store his belongings).

Maybe, he thought, Vegas was not ideal for the night. Luke remembered the town only 16 miles outside of the city. He decided to go back to the tumbleweed city of Henderson for a little trip. 

Though, he had only just gotten to Vegas, he wanted to get away from the city during the day time. And besides:

He was low on gas and cherry cola. 

Luke got into his convertible and kept the top down. He used the car's cigarette lighter to light a blunt and calm his nerves. His tongue traced the edges to keep all of the weed from spilling out. Luke let the joint bob between his lips and his hair wisp with the wind as he drove  to Mike's Shop. 

\+ 

There it was in all of its glory. The rundown shop that Luke had stumbled upon. It made him smile a little. He had long forgotten about being a male prostitute, Brian, losing his gamble, and everything else that plagued his mind.

The bell dinged when he walked inside. Cranberry, mauve, and citrus shades filled his senses again. He let his eyes roam on all of the simplistic that any normal gas station would have. There was just something about this one, old gas station that made Luke feel safe. 

He didn't know why, but Luke thought he would go to this place more often. 

Behind the counter, Michael was not alone this time. A tan, muscular boy was standing beside him, scratching a lottery ticket. It was the boy from the photo on the cash register. Michael looked to be comforting him, encouraging him to keep playing. Luke tilted his head fondly. He liked seeing openly gay couples. It made him comfortable in his own skin. 

"Welcome to Mike's," Michael said lowly. Luke wanted to say something back, but he grew nervous. He decided to walk over to the refrigerators instead. Luke scanned the shelves for a cherry cola, grinning when he found a glass bottle. He grabbed two of them, along with some headache medicine. 

"We didn't win, babe," the tan man said. Michael hushed him when Luke approached the counter. 

"Next time," Michael promised and took Luke's items. "That'll be $6.75," Luke stuffed the money into Michael's hand and cleared his throat as the cashier counted it. 

"Um, I um, I never win at lottery tickets. Hell, last night I played at a casino and still didn't win," Luke scratched the back of his neck shyly and laughed. 

"Yeah? You lose lots?" Michael looked up. 

"Actually, everything, but it's okay. The guy is going to give it back if I work for him," Luke smiled and took his bag of items. 

"Damn, is he rich?" Michael's boyfriend asked. His eyes were wide, but as Luke got closer—he noticed he was fairly handsome. He had dyed blond hair that dusted over his eyebrows, which, were dark and thick. His cheekbones were strong and masculine. Luke could see why Michael liked him so much. 

"Yeah, kind of. He owns Irwin Records," Luke shrugged. 

"Irwin Records?!" Both Michael and his boyfriend said at the same time. 

"I know right. He kind of creeped me out at first, but he wants me to sing for him. I don't know," Luke mumbled. He stared at his boots before looking back up at the men behind the cash register. 

"We know him. Ashton is our friend. He's a great guy, grew up right here in Henderson. You should definitely sing for him!" Michael encouraged, and his boyfriend nodded along. 

"I'm Calum by the way. This is Michael. You should come by and tell us how it goes," The boyfriend, Calum, said. Luke nodded with a bright smile. 

"Oh, okay! I will. Thanks for the advice guys!"

Luke heard the bell jingle, as he walked out. The sound of his boots made him feel confident. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dime, noticing a payphone on the side of the shop. 

The man reached into his denim pockets and fished out the business card from the night before. 

"Hello?" Ashton's voice became audible. 

"I accept your offer."


End file.
